Driving

Edit: This is fiction. It's a piece called Driving.

*** Language Alert ***

...He says all the right things at exactly the right time, but he means nothing to you and you don't know why...

What egotistical shit is this? He hasn't got the right to pen this song. He hasn't the soul the comes from having it all pulled out from under his fuckin' legs. He doesn't know shit. He's sitting there with you on his lap, and what has he done to deserve you? Fuck all.

It takes me several minutes of this garbage before I become aware that sanity could be merely a station change away. My radio proceeds to some Indian rubbish, as Bollywood dancers fill the back seat. Before they get the chance to dirty my car, the radio's found some classical tune.

They all sound the same. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure each one is a masterpiece. They just feel like different emotions played out by string instruments of various sizes with a piano helping out. The only problem is, there ain't no words to work out what the issue is.
Pop music- I'm in love, I wanna fuck. Rock- I'm in love, I wanna kill someone. Emo shit- I'm in love, I want to cut myself. Classical- I'm in love, but I don't speak your language. But I do happen to have several different sizes of string instrument at my disposal. Would interpretive dance help? No? Then we'll stick with the violins.

Classical will do. When I'm having trouble navigating my way through my own head, listening to other people's problems – as produced and distributed by record companies – is the last thing I fucking need.

Holidays = Internet free

Not nearly as good as free internet. Hopefully there'll be a big backlog of scribbles and paintings and writings by the time I return. The hot springs were wonderful. I can't wait to be with My Love again this Saturday.

Missing you all,

TheSovietChairman

Kim Ritchie: Camelflage

TSC: Born to be an ENGINEER

The challenge

Me and my sister have set ourselves a challenge. Whether it's thirty seconds or an hour out of our day, we will endeavour to create a new sketch/painting/creation every day. One each. I will be posting them here. Sometimes we will collaborate. Sometimes we will procrastinate. Every day we will create.

TSC (& KR)

Kim Ritchie:

TSC: Bears

Kim Ritchie: Bee Yourself

It was a good party

When I come back with those smoky eyes, you know it was a good party.

TSC

P.S. Points available for identifying the poster in the background. Points void if contestant has actually visited this room.

No birds, no scribbles, no sleep

Just a happy, but tired Engineering student.

I don't like to talk much about what I study. I understand how little most people would care about the design of a wind turbine's gearbox. It's mathematics and physics and, well... boring to most.

But that's what I've been doing. If any future employers are reading this, then I'd like to say how much I enjoy this sort of project work and would love to join your team of highly skilled Engineers, especially if you're in the Bendigo area.

Otherwise, I wouldn't like to say that so much.

"What extension?"

"The one you told me about last night."

"I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I freakin' rang you, and you said we had 'til Monday. What was that about?"

"Nope. It's due today, right? How's it coming along?"

"No. I specifically remember asking you, LAST NIGHT. YOU SAID WE HAD 'TIL MONDAY."

"Oh. I don't remember..."

*Bursts into hysterics*

"I'm sorry! I couldn't resist!"

"Sh*t! Screw y- What the..? Aaargh! Okay. It's funny. I'm slowly understanding that this is funny. Oh, dammit. You got me."

*Joins in the laughter*

Yeah. Forty pages short on a one hundred and twenty page project is a LOT short. But we will get there. It's been a long, troublesome process. But we will get there.

It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who goes a little crazy. Don't sweat it when the nasties in your brain take over. After a message like that, My Love, I can sleep soundly and happily, for the couple of hours I've allotted myself. We're all needy in different ways. We both need to recognise how to help each other out. You have my attention for every minute I can spare it, and for many minutes where I can't. That's the way I like it. I like sitting, breathing with you, feeling your presence, even if it's down the phone line. I really appreciated the reminder of how much I mean to you. You got it in my language, to a T. When things get tough, and people snap, I'm learning to develope potholes down on Memory Lane (thanks, Randy). In time, I'll need the same.

"Is she The One?"

"Yes. It's awesome. She's awesome."

"Wow. I'm so happy to hear you've made the commitment. That's great. Walk with me."

She is The One. Not because of any concept I believe in that could possibly construe the Universe to offer me one person on the planet that I have to go out and find. Only because I decided she's The One. And she's chosen me to be her One. I decided she's The One I will marry- there won't be any other. She's The One I'll become one with- two separate units as part of another, different unit. She'll be the mother of my children, the caretaker of my heart, and it's not who she is that makes her The One. It's the decision to have One and for that One to be her. And I would never wish for anyOne else.

Hopefully I'll manage some sketching tonight- some scribble or other. It might not make up for the lack of posts, or the soppiness of this one, but it'll get the post-assignment ball rolling.

Much love,

TSC